


honestly

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom Natasha Romanov, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Just a drabble, Light Dom/sub, Sub Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, rated mature for like one sentence where they bang, which is lit cause natasha is there to give it to her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: And, now… well.Now, she has Natasha.Natasha’s different than Pietro; she’s softer, and gentler, and a hundred times more deliberate in everything that she does.And, maybe Wanda still misses Pietro like a gaping hole in her chest she isn’t sure will ever mend itself before she goes, but there’s something about Natasha that makes it… not ‘better,' per se, but softer around the edges, like maybe it doesn’t have to hurt so bad so long as Wanda doesn’t have to be alone any more.Natasha’s good at making sure Wanda never feels alone.





	honestly

**Author's Note:**

> idk dude
> 
> do i know i got other stories to be updatin? yeard
> 
> is my writers block also aware of that fact? i think so. but like. does my writers block care? apparently not
> 
> anyways
> 
> enjoy?

Wanda doesn’t know that there’s a name for it, that piece of herself that’s unearthed when she and Natasha are alone (though admittedly, that occurrence is rather rare). 

She doesn’t know that there’s a way to communicate just how much the little things mean when they’re together, how she’ll duck her head and blush and crawl into Natasha’s lap like a touch-starved kitten because there’s something about it that makes her feel safe, makes her feel protected and loved and as if no one will ever try and cause her harm (much less succeed at doing so) if she just lets herself be small in the presence of someone she knows won’t take advantage of that, if she just lets herself _belong_ to someone she trusts with her life… with her _everything_, really. 

And, of course, she knows that a great deal of those feelings are due to the fact that she’s irreparably damaged, and that she has been for a hell of a lot longer than she’ll ever admit to herself. 

Because, it’s not just Pietro who haunts her; it’s not just Pietro that makes her regret and hurt and _feel_ in a way she’s sure will kill her one of these days if she’s not careful. 

(And, maybe before, that wasn’t so scary; maybe before, she was alright with the fact that she might die some day soon, and furthermore, that it’ll be her fault when it happens. 

But, not now. Not after everything. 

Not after _Natasha_.

No, she has to stay now. 

She has to stay, because she’s not alone anymore, and she owes at least that to Natasha after everything.)

It’s her father, and mother, and the life she used to live back in Sokovia with a twin brother that bugged her endlessly until she smiled and a couple of adults who tainted every last redeeming memory she owns with cigarette smoke and screaming matches across the living room and a care-taking philosophy that most certainly never earned the security and love that the word ‘care-taking’ implies.

Through it all, Pietro was her rock, her saving grace. 

Pietro was the reason she didn’t fling herself off the tallest building in their sector, the reason she didn’t reach for Father’s gun after every violent rum-soaked beating at his hands, the reason she never ran away for weeks on end like Mama sometimes did when things got bad. 

(Some days, she thinks he still is.)

And when he died, she… she lost that, a little bit. 

She lost _him_—and, with that, she lost a piece of herself. 

(Most days, she thinks that that piece is still missing. 

She doubts it’ll ever come back to her.)

And, now… well. 

Now, she has Natasha. 

Natasha’s different than Pietro; she’s softer, and gentler, and a hundred times more deliberate in everything that she does. 

And, maybe Wanda still misses Pietro like a gaping hole in her chest she isn’t sure will ever mend itself before she goes, but there’s something about Natasha that makes it… not ‘better,' per se, but softer around the edges, like maybe it doesn’t have to hurt so bad so long as Wanda doesn’t have to be alone any more. 

Natasha’s good at making sure Wanda never feels alone. 

She didn’t used to be, ‘cause the two of them might just be among the most damaged beings that dare to call themselves ‘heroes,’ but they worked for it, even when the faintest hint of reconciliation felt utterly out of reach. 

They worked for it, and they’re here now, and for the first time in a very long time, Wanda doesn’t think she wants to leave. At least, not yet. 

For the first time in a very long time, Wanda doesn’t think that staying is such a burden any longer. 

Honestly, she’s starting to think that it’s just the opposite, that maybe… maybe it’s a blessing instead.

— — 

Natasha buys her a thin, leather collar for Hanukkah—it’s sleek, and expensive, yet simple at the same time. 

Wanda adores it. 

It fits around her neck snugly, pressing oh-so-gently against her airway like a reminder of who bought it for her, of who surrounds her in the most heavenly of ways… of who _owns_ her, even when Wanda knows she sounds positively absurd for adhering to such a thing. 

It’s difficult to describe, really—Natasha listens to her input through every piece of their lives: lets her take the reins on the more magic-oriented missions, laughs good-naturedly (and sincerely) whenever Wanda’s feeling bold enough to poke fun at her (though, admittedly, that’s a rather rare happenstance), and, some nights, _Wanda’s_ the one who’s pinning Natasha’s wrists to the bed and whispering the filthiest of praises against flushed milky-pale skin and making Natasha come and come and _come_ until she’s begging Wanda to stop. 

There’s no blatant inequality of power, Wanda doesn’t think; there’s just… an intrinsic sort of equilibrium built into the very groundworks of who they are, of who they become when they’re together and no one else is around. 

It’s there in the way that Wanda throws herself into Natasha’s strong arms and buries her head in the redhead's neck after a long day without her there; it’s there in the way Wanda will strip naked under Natasha’s hungry gaze and get demurely to her knees before the woman she’s grown to love more than anything when it’s well after midnight and the city that never sleeps is wailing outside their window and Wanda doesn’t know what else she’s meant to do, how else she’s meant to _belong_.

(Somehow, she always belongs with Natasha.) 

So, no, Wanda doesn’t think there exists a ‘name' for it, much less a succinct definition that might delineate where exactly Wanda’s submission begins and Natasha’s sovereignty ends. 

But, honestly, Wanda doesn’t think she minds that in the slightest. 

Honestly, Wanda thinks it might just be better that way. 

— —

**Author's Note:**

> thots?
> 
> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/))


End file.
